


525,600

by kissontheneck



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: Cookleta, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-03
Updated: 2009-07-08
Packaged: 2017-10-05 16:17:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissontheneck/pseuds/kissontheneck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cook thinks of all the ways this last year has been the... wait for it... time of his life. (Magic rainbows sold separately.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 525, 600

**Author's Note:**

> In celebration of **cookleta** (LJ) turning one year old! How adorable is that!? I haven't been around as long as **cookleta** has been alive, but I hope I can do the babies a little justice. RENT-inspired as well, because I'm a nerd.

_Twelve months._

Three hundred sixty-five days.

Eight thousand seven hundred sixty hours.

Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes.

Cook stared at the notebook before him, the notebook with the lost snippets of song titles and chorus lines, meandering doodles and page after page of things like, "Mr. and Mr. David Archuleta-Cook" and "Mr. David Roland Cook and Mr. David James Archuleta request the honor of your presence as they commit themselves to one another on the twenty-first day of June..." It was like a journal of wandering adoration and daydreaming, accidentally collected in this beat-up composition book, and now he was using it again, here in the last minutes before he had originally wanted to have today's project done. He had to get it done before David got home. It still wasn't going to be as awesome as he had first planned, and given how it was probably going to turn out now, he was already embarrassed by it. And he knew David. He knew David would blow him out of the water, no matter what he did. It had to be better than _this_.

One year. How had that much time gone by already? Time flies. Especially when you're having so much fun. One year since Cook had taken David by the hand, kissed each knuckle gently, asked him to be his boyfriend, officially. He had even been goofy and asked David to wear his handcuff necklace, as if it were his class ring. It had lasted about two hours before David got it caught on his clothing and nearly choked to death and so regretfully returned it.

_One near-death experience by handcuff necklace_, Cook scrawled on the page. His hand smeared through the still-wet ink and he cursed. What else had happened? What else had filled this year -- the best year of his entire life? Oh, besides the Declaration tour and hijinks on the road. Besides Neal scowling at him every time he changed the set list and the countless numbers of drumsticks he found scattered wherever Kyle went. How did he count his year with David? What made this year what it was?

_Fifty-three Idol concert stops._

One hundred twenty-one cups of coffee.

One hundred twenty-one glasses of milk.

Cook tapped his pen on the table. This wasn't exactly going the way he had planned. He chewed on the cap end of the pen, momentarily amused by the thought that if David saw him do that he'd have a fit and tell him how gross it was.

_Three hundred sixty-five hygiene checks._

He wanted to let David know all the little things. The little things that built up together into this one big gigantic thing called his love for his partner. Things that made him love him, things that made him proud. Things that made him laugh, and things that made him cry. Things that built this year into something uniquely different than any other year. He wanted a list of everything, every little thing, no matter how minute, he wanted David to know that even those things -- those microscopic things -- made his life.

_Nine spontaneous on-air attack hugs._

Three fights.

Six tuxedo rentals.

Twenty-one shared showers.

Twenty-one individual follow-up showers.

Two emergency flights to Kansas City.

Eight lazy Sundays in bed.

One hundred one grapes eaten in one sitting.

Six grape skins caught in teeth.

One amazing New Year's kiss.

Yes, now this was getting somewhere. The true description of their love was not in chocolate boxes and mushy cards. It wasn't in romantic dates and expensive gifts. It was in life. Living life every day, the normal stuff. Happy and sad, irreverent and critically serious -- these were the things that made them who they were.

_One new puppy._

Five weekend trips to the beach.

Two expensive examples why Cook doesn't cook.

Three midnight talks.

Sixty-one midnight sex wake-ups.

One midnight near walk-out.

Cook looked at what he'd written. It was actually amazing he was remembering some of this stuff. Sure, he exaggerated some of the numbers, but he was sure they were pretty good estimates. He thought about taking out some of the more negative items, yet he couldn't deny that some of the most memorable moments -- some of the moments when he loved David the most -- were when he was standing at his brother's hospital bed, weeping, and David hooked his hand into his and squeezed gently. When the threat of David walking out the door after he himself had come home at five in the morning completely drop down drunk sobered him enough to realize what he was about to lose -- that's when he loved David the most. And these moments were what measured the year as much as fifteen sunset viewings from the roof, two hundred thirty-three dog walks and eleven spontaneous serenades.

_Four Michael Johns party survivals._

Seven panicked media rumors.

One hundred forty-three film rentals.

Eight scary movie snuggles.

One "incident" involving honey.

Two non-tour related nights apart.

Five secret mid-tour meet-ups.

Cook was holding his pen at his mouth again when he heard the front door open and close. Panic filled his heart -- he wasn't even done drafting his list yet, let alone writing a sentimental introduction for it.

"Cooookiee, I'm hoome." David's melodic voice sang even when he spoke. There was a moment of paralysis as Cook listened to the voice, praying for it to sound again, to say anything. He jumped when his lover came into the room, carrying nothing more than a small, neatly wrapped box in his hand. Hastily, Cook slapped the notebook closed, looking up at his dear boyfriend.

"You're home early," he breathed, angry that he definitely couldn't finish his present now. He knew he should have started it at least a week ago when Kyle had told him he should. And David had bought a gift. He was certain they had discussed _not_ doing that. He wondered if he should excuse himself immediately to go down to the car dealership where he knew a beautifully restored Mustang that caught David's eye every time they drove past sat begging to be taken home by someone and buy it on the spot. _Ha, that would show him_, Cook thought.

"Well, sort of, I guess." He looked Cook over, eyes lingering on the notebook. Cook knew that David knew what that notebook was all about. That is, he knew half-finished songs were in it, and crazy doodles. "I drove like a maniac home because... I couldn't wait to get here. It's our day!"

Cook smiled and grabbed David's wrist. "It _is_ our day. What's that?" Cook knew what it was, at least vaguely. It was clearly a jewelry box, a long skinny one.

"Your present of course."

"I thought we discussed this."

"Yeah, well..."

"Take it back."

"I can't, it was on sale."

"You bought me a _clearance_ gift?"

"It wasn't on clearance!"

"Wow, what am I going to get in twenty years? A box of crackers?"

"Oh for gosh sakes, Cookie, just open it."

Cook grabbed the box, feigning annoyance (which made David giggle) and peeled the paper from it hastily. David leaned against the table, grinning from ear to ear. Lifting the lid, Cook's eye caught the shining silver reflecting back at him, and he barely had the bracelet out of the box before David started rambling.

"I hope it's not too fancy to wear all the time, I know your other bracelets get pretty beat up but... see how it has that little charm on it? I thought like, every year I'd buy a new one to go on there. Is that too girly?"

Cook fingered the small but sturdy charm, shaped like the number one, hanging from the middle of the bracelet. He sniffed deeply, trying to keep the hot stinging in his eyes from becoming any more than that.

"It's fine," Cook breathed. "It's... _wonderful._"

"Oh good."

"Put it on me?" He held out the bracelet and his right hand. David's nail-bitten fingers fumbled with the tiny clasp, but he was finally able to get it attached. Cook looked up into David's eyes, which always reminded him of facet-cut jewels. He smiled and made pursing movements with his lips. David bent to press a gentle kiss on his boyfriend's lips and Cook thought to himself, _A thousand sweet kisses._

"I made reservations for dinner," David said, squeezing himself between Cook and the table, wedging himself onto Cook's lap. "At the Restaurante Corozón, which if I recall is your favorite."

"I think it's _your_ favorite, but I'll let you pretend you picked it for me." Cook wrapped his arms around the thin waist and pushed his face into David's neck, kissing it tenderly. _Fourteen song lyric re-enactments._

"Thank you," he breathed into David's ear. "I love you."

"Te amo tambien, Galletita," David responded, Cook knew it was without even thinking what language he was speaking. _Ninety-six Spanish outbursts, good and bad._

"I didn't get you anything," Cook said. "Seriously. Not joking. We made a pact."

"It's okay," David said, voice soft on the darkening room. The sun was fading and no lights had been turned on in the kitchen. "It's not about being equal, it's about doing what you want to do. And I wanted to give you that."

"Thank you. I started writing something for you, but... it's not done."

"Let me see it."

"I couldn't."

"Your time is up, Cookie, let me see."

"Okay."

Cook opened up the notebook, taking too long to find the page he needed, occasionally pausing to smile at a particularly strong string of song lyrics, but rushing past the fake passages of wedding announcements. Finally, the freshly written on page stared back at both of them, "One Year" scrawled along the top.

"Oh gosh," David said, "what's this?"

"I was thinking about what I could do that would capture what all this means to me. That would somehow measure what this amazing year has been like. I don't know, it's kind of lame."

David was scanning the page now. "No, it isn't."

"It's no silver bracelet."

"No," David replied, finger lingering over some of the statements Cook had written. "No... it's better."

"You don't have to say that."

"I mean it."

Cook sighed, half not believing his boyfriend.

"You forgot something though," David said, turning to try to face Cook.

"I told you it wasn't finished."

"You still forgot it."

"What's that?"

"To measure in love." And David pushed his knees up onto Cook's lap, turned to face him, wrapped his arms around Cook's neck and kissed him like he'd never kissed him before.

_One unmatchable love._


	2. Moments So Dear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some of the best parts of life are the tiny moments.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of the moments mentioned in "525, 600".

~~♥~~  
_Six tuxedo rentals._

Cook stood in front of the mirror and knew something looked off. He turned around twice, but couldn't figure out what on earth the problem was with his tuxedo. It looked... ill-fitted.

"David!" he shouted across the bedroom to his boyfriend who was currently fighting with his hair in the bathroom. "Will you come here? Something is wrong."

David strode out of the bathroom, a distinct portion of his hair still sticking out oddly right on top of his head. He crossed to Cook and looked at him in the mirror.

"You look fine, what's wrong?"

"Something. Something is wrong. Am I wearing this right?" Cook tugged at the shirt collar that he had struggled to button all the way to the top.

David grabbed at the bottom half of the shirt. "For one thing, it'd help if you tucked this in. I know you're not used to doing that, but it'd help." David thrust his hands unceremoniously into Cook's pants, tucking the shirt tightly under the waistband.

"Hey, whoa! Watch what you're doing there, buddy!" Cook laughed as David continued to adjust the shirt, still dressing him in a business-like fashion.

"Ha, you never complained before," David commented. "Hold still so I can adjust your vest."

"Do what now?"

"There's an adjustment band on the back, hold on." David fumbled with the buckle in frustration as Cook failed to do what he was told. "I said hold still!"

"You have a cowlick," Cook commented.

"I am perfectly _aware_," David said, irritation in his voice as he pulled on the strap too hard, causing Cook's vest to pucker.

"Whoa, watch it, I don't have a lot of leeway in that particular area of my body, kiddo."

"There, you're perfect."

"I know, but what about this tux? There's just something..." Cook couldn't help the grin that spread across his face.

"You're crazy," David said, unable to hold back his own smile.

"I know. Hey, come here." Cook grabbed David by the wrist and pulled him close, automatically kissing him softly before attempting to push down the uncooperative hair on his boyfriend's head.

"It's not gonna help," David sighed. "I'm going to look like a fool during the whole awards dinner."

Cook drew his left hand up to his face and licked straight across his palm, immediately transferring it to David's crown, pressing hard against his scalp.

"Ew, _gross_, David!"

~~♥~~  
_Two non-tour related nights apart._

David stormed up the steps, dragging his duffel bag behind him, it occasionally pulling along the red carpeted stairway. His head was pounding and he couldn't wait to get into his room so he could splash his face with cool water, take a Tylenol and attempt to calm down. He was so unfocused on what he was doing that he walked all the way to the end of the hall before realizing he had passed his room about halfway back. Irritated, he sighed heavily, hoisted up his bag and headed back in the other direction. Fishing the key card out of his pocket, he reviewed the number on it: 286.

Finally standing before said room, he had to slide the card four times before the green light blinked him in, and he nearly fell inside after his jacket got caught up on the doorknob.

"Gaaahh!" he shouted, flinging his bag on the floor at the foot of the bed and throwing himself down onto it. His jacket was warm and constricting, and he fought it to become free of it, letting it slide unceremoniously to the floor next to him. His eyes were tired and stinging, and he rubbed his hand against them in an effort to ease the pain that hid behind them.

He lay there, unmoving, for several minutes, exhaustion overtaking him. He let his eyes close against the blinding evening light striking in through the windows. He didn't realize how much energy he had spent in the last hour, from beginning to end, and how it seemed to all come down on him at once. His heart prickled in pain and he surprised himself as the smallest hiccup of a gasp escaped his gentle lips.

His cell phone buzzed in his pocket and without thinking, he reached for it, pulling it up into his blurred vision, blinking against the notice: "1 new message from David Cook."

He held his breath as he punched the button to select the message.

"I'm so sorry. Please come home."

In a completely uncharacteristic bout of fury, David clawed the back off the phone, ripped out the battery and threw it across the room.

~~♥~~  
_Two emergency flights to Kansas City._

"David, what's wrong? What was that about?"

"It was Mom, I have to go home."

"What's going on? Is it your brother? Is he okay?"

"I have to go."

"I'm going with you."

~~♥~~  
_Two hundred thirty-three dog walks._

Cook reluctantly pulled his shoes on and grabbed the dog's leash. Dublin had been staring at him for almost an hour, begging to go outside for a walk.

"Okay, okay, Daddy's up. Let's go."

Dublin danced around in circles, whippy black tail a blur behind him. He yipped and bounced as he followed Cook to the door.

"I said okay!"

Just as his hand reached for the doorknob, David came bounding down the stairs, jogging in place once he reached the bottom.

"Can I go with you guys?"

Cook couldn't help but laugh at the sight of his boyfriend and his dog bouncing together in a similar fashion.

"Of course you can," Cook said, smiling. This walk would be much better if David was going to join him. "I'm not running with you though, if that's what you're thinking, mister."

"No, no," David insisted, "I'll keep pace with you."

"That's what you said last time."

"Race you to the end of the street!"

~~♥~~  
__One "incident" involving honey.__

Cook took up the honey again and again flipped the cap and squeezed a small drop onto his finger before plunging said finger into his mouth and taking an excruciatingly long time sucking it off, David's eyes glued to his mouth the whole time. Cook pulled his finger out of his mouth with a smacking 'pop' and David jumped a little at the sound. Glancing at the bottle, Cook saw there was honey dripping down the side of the bear and he drew it up to his face, sticking out his tongue and slowly tracing it up the side of the bottle, relishing every single millimeter along the way. In his peripheral vision he could see David's eyes widening as he continued to lap at the sticky liquid with little flicks of his tongue. Against his hip he felt David's erection growing and he smirked in spite of himself.

Now he took up David's left hand and grabbed his index finger, pointing it out so he could drip a glob of honey onto it. David swallowed roughly, watching as if from outside his own body. Cook smirked again, tongue playing on his lips, before lifting David's finger to his own mouth, and again proceeding to suck the honey off of it, this time being sure to run his tongue along the length of it, before clamping his lips firmly down on it and sucking fervently, like a baby from a bottle.

~~♥~~  
_Ninety-six Spanish outbursts, good and bad._

"Usted es imposible!"

"What's that, David? What? _Don't walk away from me!_"

"¿Por qué? Nunca me escuchan de todas maneras!"

"Damn it, David, if you've got something to say--"

~~♥~~  
_A thousand sweet kisses._

Cook was half-asleep when he felt it, the gentle pressure against his lips, soft and only slightly damp.

"What was that for?" he asked, pulling David closer to him and puzzle-piecing his nose alongside his partner's.

"Just because."


End file.
